Housewarming
by In the House
Summary: The Houses and Thomas enjoy a Saturday together as a family with horses, cats, and each other. A two-chapter story which takes place three days after Process of Elimination ended. Guaranteed angst free.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I decided to divide this "one shot" into two chapters. It's longer than it seemed mentally and had a nice dividing line anyway. Good House/Thomas moments (and Jet) coming in part two.

Enjoy!

(H/C)

"Now I know how a sardine feels," House grumbled. "We could have taken two cars." He, of course, had the best of it since he was driving, and Cuddy's vehicle was the roomiest available anyway and not that crowded even with five passengers, two in car seats.

"Saves gas," Thomas noted from the passenger's front. He hid his smile. Greg was obviously enjoying this family day and even the drive, which was probably why he'd felt obligated to complain about it.

"What's sardine?" Rachel asked from behind her father.

"It's a kind of little fish," Cuddy started dutifully, turning a little to face her older daughter.

Rachel cut her off by bursting into laughter. "We're not a fish!" she scolded. "_Silly_ Daddy."

House grinned before he caught himself, then glanced quickly over at the old man. Thomas wasn't even trying to conceal his merriment now. He looked far younger than 75 as he twisted in the seat to smile back at his granddaughter, and his eyes were glowing.

House looked back at the road. Housewarming. The whole idea sounded foreign to him. Throughout his life, he'd usually marked moving with a mocking beer to the memory of having John out of his life that somehow turned into far too many subsequent beers and ended up having nothing at all positive about the mood of the evening. The only relocation he'd really celebrated had been his into Cuddy's former home, now theirs together, and that one had been celebrated in the bedroom privately. In childhood, the priority as soon as they reached a new place had been to "get everything in order," in John's words. John had supervised, only pitching in proudly on the things that "needed a man" to move them into place, but he wanted the new house unpacked and organized at once, and Blythe and Greg both had been driven like slaves for the first few days. No matter how fast they had worked, it was never good enough. House sighed softly.

"Greg?" Cuddy's voice reached through the past to find him unerringly, and he emerged once again into the sunny Saturday morning in the car with his family.

"Just thinking," he reassured her. He stole a quick sideways look at Thomas again. The old man was watching him more closely now, of course. "Rachel," he said, "sardines are packed into a can so tight that they don't have any room at all. They're right next to each other, couldn't move if they tried. _That's_ why we're like sardines."

"I have room," she countered, throwing out one arm vigorously and socking her mother in the chest. "When is Ember?"

"About ten more minutes," Thomas replied. "We're almost there. Then after the stable, you get to see Jet."

"We did see Jet," Abby insisted, just making the point for accuracy.

"Doesn't count. He was asleep," Rachel answered. "Now he's awake, and we're gonna have a PARTY!"

House wasn't sure if it had been Cuddy's idea or the old man's to have a housewarming at his new place today, but they had been plotting it together since Thursday night, Cuddy on logistical details and timing but with enthusiasm behind her planning frenzy and Thomas adding details like going to the stable first and watching a family movie all together after their barbeque (with a side of vegetables to be available for the rabbits among them).

At least the in-laws weren't invited. That would help make the day more bearable.

Not that it was too bad so far, he had to admit. Thomas had come over, and they had all gone out to breakfast together to IHOP for pancakes, a destination that House always enjoyed even with the bittersweet memory of his mother coloring the edges of his thoughts since her death. Now they were heading to the barn, and afterwards, once thoroughly horsed, they would resardine themselves and return to Princeton for a BBQ, a hopefully gentle introduction of the girls to the kitten, and then a movie.

No unpacking. Thomas was already done. Just enjoying each other's company. Celebrating.

An odd agenda, especially involving a father. He wasn't quite sure how to classify it or what to expect from the day.

"I was looking at those x-rays again yesterday," he said to Thomas as he dodged from unfamiliar emotions into medicine. "That splint is really well done." House had gone over to Thomas' place for lunch on Thursday and had given Jet a thorough examination then.

"It is," Thomas agreed. "He can't put any weight on the joints of that leg, but he can get around after a fashion. He's getting better at balancing on it all the time."

"Yeah, but the point is the hardware. They had to use it with this bad a break, but it's going to create problems, too. It needs to be removed as soon as possible, because it's not growing with him. But the splint really protects him. So I was thinking, I wouldn't wait for the fracture to get healed. Soon as there was good callus started, I'd go ahead and remove the hardware early and then _leave_ him in the splint another six weeks or so after that. Let it finish out unfixed. With weight kept off it until it was totally healed, I think it would keep mending all right given a good start fastened together, and meanwhile, the bone could grow. Even a few weeks less of hardware might lead to less leg length discrepancy eventually. I'd start thinking about it around two to three weeks."

"That makes sense," Thomas said thoughtfully. "I'll call the clinic on Monday and talk to them. I know she'd meant to leave the hardware longer than that, but it's a good point."

"You're going to have to keep him in the splint anyway for a while after the hardware is removed, just to protect the leg, no matter when we do it. It needs to be rock solid, 100% before he's allowed to put weight on it. You realize what's going to happen as soon as that splint is off?"

Thomas laughed, picturing the black kitten zooming around the house at a full wobble gallop, crashing into things, rediscovering his balance, playing with the world as weeks of pent-up kitten energy released like a dam breaking. "That name might turn out to be appropriate in more ways than one. He tries to play even now."

"He won't understand easing back into things. Can't reason with him like a human patient. Not that you can reason with some of _them_, either." House put on his blinker.

"Ember!" Rachel looked out the window at the barn as they pulled in. "Can Jet come see Ember?"

"No, Rachel. Jet doesn't need out here. He'd hurt himself. They have some barn cats here; I'll try to find one to introduce you to." Thomas opened the door as House turned the ignition off. "And I have a surprise to show you girls."

Abby was wary. "I don't like 'prises."

"I think you'll like this one. It just got here yesterday. A brand new surprise." He opened the back door and started unbuckling Abby from her car seat. Cuddy, in the middle, was at work on Rachel.

House limped away a few strides, watching the people. Young, healthy people, some entering the barn, one leading her horse out, two already up riding in the outdoor ring. Going out for a morning of physical activity, all oblivious to how quickly it might end. He had been enjoying recreation himself when the lightning bolt had struck. The cane felt heavy in his hand.

Abby, lifted to the ground by Thomas, broke away from her grandfather and rounded the car to her father. "You don't like 'prises, too," she said.

He smiled down at her and picked her up just to remind himself that he still could. A little twinge from the ribs and the leg, neither of which were enjoying the course of PT he'd set himself, but it wasn't too bad. He silently informed them to shut up; they'd had this morning as a break from the sessions and had no right to complain today. "It depends, Abby. Once in a while, you get a nice one." She had been a surprise, he remembered. Unplanned, not even really thought possible given Cuddy's past history. His beautiful little blue-eyed girl.

"Can I record that for posterity?" Cuddy said as she came to his side. "The hospital would never believe you said those words." She followed his look, and her expression softened as she gave his arm an understanding squeeze.

"Let's GO!" Rachel was dancing at the end of Thomas's long arm, twirling on the pivot point of his hand. "I wanna see Ember. And barn cats. And the surprise."

A few people called out greetings to Thomas as they walked to the open barn doors. The old man was already making friends after just a week here at the stable, House thought. How did he _do_ that?

Once inside, the location of the "surprise" could easily be guessed by the small knot of people in front of the largest stall on the aisle. They joined the group, Thomas picking up Rachel for a better view. Rachel looked in and gave a soft squeal of pure delight.

The mare turned to look at Rachel suspiciously, her ears shifting back in warning. The little foal by her side was oblivious to her admirers. Instead, she was busy at her own breakfast, her short foal tail flipping occasionally in pure contentment as she nursed.

"You can't squeal out here, Rachel," Thomas reminded his granddaughter gently.

Abby was rapt. "A baby?" she asked her father. They'd seen a pony here, too, but this one looked different, not just smaller.

"Yes. It's a baby horse," House replied. He studied the foal. It was a cute little thing, he had to admit.

"She was just born yesterday morning," Thomas told them. "A brand new baby horse." The filly finished her meal and walked a few steps around the large stall, then eyed the people curiously. Little droplets of milk still clung to her muzzle.

Abby giggled suddenly. "She can walk."

Rachel tossed her curls at such an obvious statement. "_Course_ she can walk."

"Better than Daniel."

House chuckled as he realized what she meant. "You think Daniel was a lot slower to learn to walk?"

Abby nodded. "He's _slow_."

"Horses can walk on the day they're born," Thomas told his granddaughters. "They do it a lot faster than people. They can run, even." He didn't add the reason why. In the wild, a helpless, immobile baby was a waiting meal for a predator. A horse's defense was his speed.

"Good morning, Thomas." Marilyn joined the group. "I see you brought my little horse girls in training again."

"Can I pet the baby?" Rachel asked.

"No, not yet, Rachel. In a week or two, okay? Her mother is still a little protective of her, so only my help and I are handling them yet. This is Velvet's first baby, and she's still figuring her new role out."

"What's tective?" Rachel asked.

"That means she doesn't want anything to happen to her baby. She doesn't know you, Rachel. She'll relax and get used to the activity around her foal. This is just all new to her."

"Did _you_ pet her, Grandpa Thomas?" Rachel asked.

"No. I'm waiting, too. So we'll have to wait together." Rachel smiled and gave him a conspiratorial hug.

"It's not a part old baby?" Abby asked in her tone of confirming the order of things in her world.

"It's a _baby,_" her sister replied impatiently. "Babies aren't old!"

Thomas abruptly put the question together. The filly had a wide white blaze standing out against her darker fuzzy foal coat. "Because of the white hair on her face, you mean?"

Abby nodded vigorously. "You said. But not white, not color. It's parts. Dif'rent like cats?"

"Yes, exactly. Horses come that way sometimes, Abby, with mixed white and colors at the same time. They're called markings. That doesn't mean she's old. It's just how she looks. In fact. . ." He turned away from the group, whose members were now watching the girls as much as the foal and with similar smiles. "Come here."

They followed him around into another aisle to another stall. The pinto gelding inside looked at them with mild curiosity as he munched his morning hay. Abby was delighted. "It's got pots! Like the puppy in the park."

"Yes. They come in spots sometimes. That's just how he's marked, like the puppy."

"And he had baby pots, too?" Abby asked, just getting the system clear.

"Yes, he looked just like this as a baby. Only smaller."

"Horses are dif'rent," Abby said wisely, filing these rules. "Not old and white. And can have parts. Like cats."

"Horses are _not_ like cats," Rachel insisted. "I wanna see a cat, Grandpa Thomas."

At that moment, a thud echoed down the aisle, and there came an annoyed rumble. The family looked up to see Ember, four stalls away, with her head out her stall door, glaring at Thomas. She kicked the door again and nickered low in her throat, a sound without any room at all for interpretation.

House gave her an admiring nod. "I never heard a horse curse at someone before."

"Most animals can in their own language," Thomas told him. "I'm sure you've seen Belle get expressive a time or two."

"She's pretty good at it," Cuddy said.

Thomas started for the stall. "Ember, you haven't got anything to worry about. I was just saving the best for last." The mare's reply was a dubious snort.

Rachel giggled. "Silly Ember!"

Thomas set his granddaughter down. "Stand back, okay, Rachel? Remember what we talked about. You can't run, and you can't squeal. You don't want to scare her."

"Come here, Rachel," Cuddy called. Rachel retreated obediently, and Cuddy captured her hand and tried a few deep breathing techniques. She'd had a good talk with Patterson about this yesterday, but she knew the fear would take work to overcome.

House shifted his weight almost imperceptibly, drawing her concerned attention to him and away from Thomas, who was entering the stall. Her stubborn husband had had three serious PT sessions so far. She had crept down to watch a few minutes of the one yesterday morning, hanging back just outside the big room and behind his line of sight. Merely being a spectator had made _her_ hurt. She was glad he'd have the weekend off. He was still not 100% healed from the explosion, though he would have denied that.

Abby, perceptive as ever, wiggled in his left arm. "Down, Daddy!" she demanded. House tensed up a little, sorting through her motives, then gave up and put her down. He did catch her small hand in his left one as Thomas opened the stall door again and emerged with the now-haltered mare.

Ember seemed to have grown, Cuddy thought. She backed up to the wall, giving them more room than needed to pass, and then she and House followed Thomas as he led Ember to one of the grooming stalls at the end of the aisle. Once she was cross tied, he went a few feet to a bank of lockers and opened his, getting his grooming equipment out.

Rachel pulled forward, tugging at Cuddy's hand. "Hi, Ember," she said, and nobody could have accused her of squealing. Her tone was reverent.

Ember pricked her ears at her name and looked down at Rachel. Thomas came back and set the caddy full of grooming tools to the side. "Come here, Rachel," he called. "But bring one of them with you." Without a word, House and Cuddy traded small hands, and House limped up with Rachel as Cuddy with Abby shifted over to the side for a good view while remaining in the background.

Thomas kept one eye on the mare's ears, reading her mood and her feedback. Ember was settling into the new barn after a week here and was much less excited than she had been last Saturday. Even so, Thomas stood so that any sudden movement would impact him first before reaching his son and granddaughter. "Watch this," he told Rachel. Standing on Ember's right side, he tapped her neck firmly about halfway up. She whinnied.

Rachel's eyes widened. "Hi, Ember," she repeated.

"Remember that day you talked to her on the phone?" Rachel nodded. "That's how. My friend I was talking to was cuing her. It's a trick I taught her." He tapped her neck again, and Ember whinnied. "Good girl." Thomas pulled out a mini carrot and fed it to the mare.

"_Knew_ she didn't talk." Abby sounded vindicated in her skepticism, though Rachel was looking fascinated.

"Actually, she does talk, Abby. Yes, that's a trick. But in her language, she talks to me. You just have to learn it, like any language."

Abby shook her head, and House, looking back at his younger daughter, grinned. Abby hated being faked out on something - or even having somebody _try_ to fake her out on something - nearly as much as he did.

Rachel reclaimed his attention, pulling forward. "Can I try?"

Thomas' look of shielded concern at his son annoyed House royally. The old man wasn't worried about Rachel right then. House picked up his daughter and limped a few steps closer, holding her out.

Rachel, of course, immediately started patting all over the mare's red neck, getting no response from Ember except an ear flick. "No, Rachel," Thomas said. "You can't just do it all over without thinking. It's very specific. You have to pay close attention. She has to know you mean something, not just petting her." Thomas caught her hands, stilling them, and then used them to give one firm tap at the designated spot. Ember whinnied. "Good girl." Thomas gave her another carrot and a few strokes as a reward. "Try it like that."

Rachel did her best, and House had a flashback to all those piano lessons trying to get the kid to remember where middle C was instead of just happily hitting every key in the neighborhood. Rachel's enthusiasm surpassed her detail orientation.

Not quite like the piano lessons, he realized a few moments later. Rachel was trying, actually trying, to still her butterfly movements and pay attention, more determined here than she ever had been on the music. "Show me 'gain, Grandpa Thomas," she asked.

He guided her hand and then released it a few inches away from Ember's neck. "Right there. Now tap her firmly. Let her know you're telling her something." Rachel gave it her best shot, and Ember turned her head, looking undecided for a moment, then whinnied. It was nothing like the sharp, prompt response to Thomas' touch (or to Bob's that day during the phone call, Cuddy thought), but it was a whinny.

Rachel's smile would have powered Princeton and Trenton both. "Hi, Ember."

Thomas handed Rachel a mini carrot. "Here, Rachel. Give her her treat, and hold your hand flat like I showed you last week. That's _very_ important." Rachel held her hand flat as a pancake as Ember lipped the carrot off her palm.

"I wanna do it again."

"No, Rachel," Thomas said. "We don't want to just keep doing it over and over. It would get to be no fun for Ember that way. You can try again next time you're out here, okay?" She looked disappointed, and he changed the subject. "Besides, I thought you wanted to see me ride her."

Rachel forget her letdown instantly. "Yay!" she whispered, trying painfully hard not to squeal.

"Here, step back and give me room to work, and I'll get her ready."

House retreated and put Rachel back down gratefully, and they stood a little distance away and watched Thomas groom and saddle the mare. The old man kept up a running commentary, telling them the name and purpose of each grooming tool and piece of tack, and House, with his insatiable appetite for new data, soaked it up just as much as Rachel did. Abby, too, was paying attention, even if she still looked a little ruffled that Thomas had tried to tell them they were really talking to Ember on the phone back on that trip with her grandma's funeral.

Finally Ember was ready. Thomas picked up his helmet and then closed his locker again. "This part is very important, Rachel. You should always wear a helmet when you ride."

Marilyn walked up in time to hear that last statement. "Yes, you should. I even make that a barn rule, Rachel. Anybody who wants to ride at my stable has to wear a helmet. So if you start to ride in a few months, you'll have to wear one like your grandpa has there."

"Won't fit," Abby protested, and all of them laughed. Thomas put his helmet on Rachel for a moment, and it did indeed come clear down over her nose. Abby got into giggle fits watching, and then Rachel wanted to see it on her sister so she could see how funny it looked for herself. All in all, it was a few minutes before Thomas unclipped the cross ties and led Ember toward the outside ring.

Cuddy took a deep breath as they stopped outside the ring and Thomas went on in. House had both of their daughters at the moment, Abby holding onto one finger of his right hand and Rachel on his left, and Cuddy halted a few feet behind them. "He rides really well," Marilyn commented softly, stopping beside her as they watched Thomas check the length of his stirrups. "He's not top class in talent, but he doesn't try to be, and he clearly has a lot of experience. He's a very safe pleasure rider."

_But it's not totally safe, no matter how careful or skillful you are,_ Cuddy thought. But was anything in life truly safe? Her husband had been struck down with the beginnings of the infarction while playing golf, hardly a high-risk contact sport.

Thomas checked the tightness of his girth, then walked Ember over to the mounting block. He was into the saddle very gracefully for 75 and so smoothly that Cuddy barely had time to tense up in anticipation before he was already on board. He gave Ember a pat and a treat, and Cuddy noted that the mare had no problems turning her long neck into a U and reaching back to Thomas' hand. He smiled at his family outside the rails. "Easiest way to train a horse to stand still while you mount," he said. "Give them a treat after. Some people call it bribery, but it works."

"Bribery can be very useful," House agreed.

"We're not going to do much today, and I won't do any jumping this morning, Lisa." Thomas looked over at the obstacles set up in the middle of the ring. "These two other riders working right now are out of my league. I don't jump courses that high. Ember and I won't go over three feet max, and we usually just hop a log now and then on the trail."

Cuddy relaxed a little. She had been picturing him going over those fences. She moved up a little closer to her family, and they watched.

It was a revelation. Thomas and Ember might not be limits pushers, but they were definitely a team. Even the nonhorsey observer could see the bond between them. Thomas was perfectly smooth in the saddle, a part of his horse, and Ember obviously was totally familiar with him. They looked like two friends who were completely known to each other out for a Saturday morning ride.

"Look at the horse's ears, Abby," House said. "She talks to him with her ears."

Abby watched closely, soaking it up, but she still had a stubborn edge to her tone. "Not _real_ talk."

Rachel was riveted. Remarkably for her, she stood completely still for almost twenty minutes as Thomas put the mare through all the gaits. Dropping back into a walk, he called over to his family. "Let me walk her a few rounds to cool her off, not that she's really getting hot yet, and then we'll quit. This morning is just to let you see her a little bit. What we do most of the time is trail riding, and that's not spectator friendly." He carefully didn't look at his son as he said it, trying not to leave offense with what was a fact for _all_ spectators.

Ember walked a few more laps, the reins longer now, the two of them relaxed and settled. She jumped once as a loud truck rumbled by, but Thomas barely shifted. A low word that they couldn't quite catch, and her ears turned halfway back again, listening to him, as she resumed her even walk. Thomas halted in front of them and slid off. "What did you think of that, Rachel?" he asked.

Rachel was still nailed to the spot. "Wow!" she said.

Marilyn smiled. "One of these days, Rachel, maybe you can do that."

"On Ember?" With the spell broken as Thomas got off, Rachel was starting to come back to life. She had been told with no room for interpretation that she couldn't ride Ember, and her slightly impish look announced that she hadn't forgotten, but no harm in asking again.

"No." It was a quadruple negative from all four adults present. Rachel sighed.

"She's too big for you, Rachel," Thomas said. "She fits me." That wasn't all there was to it, either, House sensed. As smooth as the horse looked under Thomas, House could also tell from watching her body language how much she noticed things. The old man gave her the steadiness that she needed, but House got the impression that this horse was not just an equine babysitter and could get excited and worried very easily with someone who didn't know how to handle her.

It really _was_ a language. He'd never realized - or even considered - how much silent communication might go on between a horse and rider. With Ember, it was obvious.

"How many horses have you had?" he asked as Thomas led the mare back to the stable.

"Six," Thomas replied. He felt a surge of pride at his son's perception, sensing what was behind the question. Greg wasn't horse crazy, but he couldn't help noticing the finer details of any subject placed in front of him. "My first several were a lot less sensitive than this. There is a learning curve, and it just takes time and mileage."

Most things in life did, House thought. He looked down at Rachel, who still looked a little starry eyed, then at Abby on his other side, who wore her familiar expression of the almost 3-year-old version of analytical.

"She's a lot of fun," Thomas continued. "Yes, you do have to pay attention on her, but I think she's the smartest horse I've ever had."

"You had six horses?" Rachel repeated. Thomas, already high in her esteem, stepped off the mere earth and landed among the stars with that statement.

"Not all at once. Remember, Rachel, I'm old. I've had them over years and years."

She gave a happy sigh as he cross-tied Ember and started to unsaddle her. "I want six horses."

Cuddy groaned with more exasperation than tension at the moment, to her surprise. Ember turned her head slightly, the ears flicking, not alarm but just awareness, and Thomas glanced down the aisle to see what had caught her attention. "Look, Rachel," he said. "Here comes one of the barn cats."

"That's Chomper," said Marilyn. She knelt and twitched her fingers, and Chomper, a solid blue gray, ambled over to investigate. "You can pet him if you like, girls. But gently."

Rachel bent to pet the cat, as did Abby, and House watched their exploring hands, well trained by Belle, and then looked back up to the old man. Thomas was brushing his horse and watching them, not just the girls but his whole family, with a look of unashamed pure contentment.

House dropped his eyes again, unable to face the emotion, uncertain what to do with the silent invitation to share it. "We'd better get out of here fairly soon," he grumbled. "If we catch the noon traffic heading back to Princeton, it'll take us half the afternoon to even get to your place, and I'm hungry."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for the longer than intended delay. Life has been crazily busy.

Updates on the fanfic are probably going to come more slowly now. For one thing, my favorite and most intense musical group restarted rehearsals after Labor Day, and we have two concerts between now and Christmas with that one, plus the other music. For another, I recently switched volunteer work when my old task ran itself down to complete, and the new area, while fun, seems to be trying to run away with me. I'm working on setting limits on that. Of course, there's always my full-time job, my project fixer-upper farm, and Mom. But most likely to compete for writing things down time is my latest book idea.

I have decided to write a book about Mom's illness, both as a tribute to her and encouragement/commiseration for other caretakers out there. This will take precedence whenever I feel up to writing down a chapter on it. It's very much an open-ended project in terms of timeline, since it logically would have to end with her death, but she and I have been walking this road of her disease for 15 years now, so there are plenty of chapters to catch up to present day. That one will be real world published ultimately. The title is _C-Sharp Minor. _

I don't expect that to totally shove fanfic aside. I tend to work on multiple writing projects mentally simultaneously anyway, and I also expect that there will be plenty of days when I want to write something down but just don't have it in me to approach that. Writing has normally been an unwind/escape/get a breather from life activity for me, and I'm expecting that to be the most demanding thing I've ever written. So the fanfic will still come, but it's going to be sharing my time more than it has.

As for the House stories, this chapter ends Housewarming. And yes, the title has a double meaning. :) Next up is Pain, long and involved. The one after that is building under the tentative working title of Retribution. Beyond that, ideas coalescing. I think there will be another Pranks story, but it's still sprouting. I also have had an idea in the last two weeks for another House story, not this universe but a completely different and much weirder AU, a multichapter work. I'm not entirely sure the muse will grab on that. She is chewing it thoughtfully. It's an odd concept but a lot of potential to play with the idea, I think. We shall see what happens and if that takes hold. If I don't decide to take that idea for myself, I'll put it up for adoption, as it could turn into even multiple fun stories, depending on where different people went with it.

Meanwhile, enjoy Housewarming, part two. And by the end, you will know what my favorite movie is.

Thanks for reading.

(H/C)

"Remember, girls," Thomas reiterated as House turned into his street, "you have to be quiet and move slowly with Jet. Even more than you do with Ember. Jet's been hurt. He's still afraid something else might hurt him."

"Poor Jet," said Rachel.

Abby wiggled in her car seat. "I wanna see his big Band-Aid."

House felt a surge of pride at her diagnostic curiosity. Abby wanted to examine the kitten, to watch him walk and look at him as a case study, as much as she was capable of it. Just like he himself had Thursday. His daughters were so different but each special, Rachel's energy and compassion and Abby's curiosity and analysis.

"You can see him," Thomas told them. "You can probably even pet him after a while, but you'll have to let him get used to having you there first. Just don't run. I mean don't run inside. I know you need to run, but do that in the back yard, okay?"

"Yay!" Rachel strained against her car seat straps as House parked in the driveway. "With a slide! I wanna slide." Thomas' house came equipped with a small play structure in the back yard, a memento from the grandkids of the previous owners. That couple had been delighted that it would still be appreciated now that their own grandchildren had outgrown it.

House opened the car door and exited. Leaving Cuddy and the old man to free the girls, he limped over to the porch, studying the newly planted rosebush in front of it. Emily's rosebush. Blythe's azalea was blooming at his own place. This one had a few buds but no blooms yet. It looked less shell shocked at being transplanted than it had last week as it began to taste the new ground. He looked at the barely cracking buds and tried to decide what color it would be. Nothing definite yet, just very preliminary promises.

Rachel hopped up the porch steps, jumping two-footed from each level to the next. "Let's see Jet!" she commanded, reaching for the door.

Thomas unlocked the door, gripping her hand at the same time. "Gently," he admonished again.

House entered after them, letting Cuddy and Abby bring up the rear. Rachel stopped in the middle of the living room and looked around. "Jet?" she called. "Kitty, kitty."

Not a sound, not even a black whisker. Thomas knew that Jet was in his cave. They had made more than enough noise approaching the house to send him into hiding. Still, Thomas didn't mention that. Having the girls down on the floor trying to climb or reach through the opening wouldn't soothe the kitten at all. "He'll come out when he's ready to meet us. Why don't we sit down for a little while and see if he turns up? Then we'll go outside after that and start the grill while you play."

"Yay!" Rachel ran two steps of a circle and then pulled herself up even before the adults could say anything. She looked around guiltily. "Sorry, Jet," she whispered.

Cuddy smiled. "Come on, girls. Let's go through the bathroom first, then we'll wait for Jet." She headed down the hall with her daughters, having to pry Abby away from an inspection of the piano.

House sat down on the piano bench facing the room, not the keys, and flinched, hoping a moment later that he had concealed it. This bench was hard, no cushion at all, much less his marvelous therapeutic cushion at his baby grand at home. He made a mental note to choose another seat when they settled down after lunch in here for a movie, but for now, he stayed where he was.

Thomas sat down in the recliner, putting himself where he would be immediately visible once Jet peered out. "I ought to get a cushion for that thing." House tensed up, and Thomas went on smoothly. "I was playing it last night myself - trying to, anyway, now that it's tuned - and I was all stiff by the time I got up. I also need to find a piano teacher and sign up for more senior edition beginner's lessons."

The diversion was irresistible, and House slowly moved mentally away from his leg. "I'll check around. See who's an idiot and who's less of one. You sure you want to keep on with it? You're up here with us now." He was relieved that Thomas didn't ask _him_ to give him lessons. Even Rachel's brief foray into lessons had tried his patience sorely. With the old tensions added with the old man that he was slowly working on, he'd be bound to say something too sharp one day out of musical frustration and push things too far.

"Oh, I intend to listen. You and Abby both. But yes, I want to keep on with lessons. That wasn't just because I was away from you all and looking for a substitute connection. I'm enjoying the challenge." Thomas laughed softly. "Wish I'd enjoyed it all those years ago, but it didn't matter to me then. You can teach an old dog new tricks, but it's harder." He glanced sideways, and House knew that Jet had peeped out of his cave.

In the next moment, the kitten retreated as Cuddy exited the bathroom and came back down the hall with the girls.

Rachel looked around at once for the missing kitten. "Jet?"

"Play, Daddy!" Abby said, walking over to him.

He looked down at her blue eyes, a mirror image of his - and of his grandfather's. "I can't play. The keys have vanished," he teased, raising his hands to finger air.

Rachel giggled, but Abby tossed her head impatiently. She enjoyed joking around with her father at times, but music was _serious_. "Turn over," she instructed.

Thomas chuckled, and House grinned himself at the image. "Turn over?" Yeah, he could see himself doing cartwheels here on the piano bench.

"It's here!" Abby hit a few keys behind him to demonstrate. Middle C, E, and G, House noted. Even impatient, she didn't just bang.

He started to swivel around, slowly as usual, and Thomas spoke up. "What's kitten music, Greg? Maybe you can conjure up Jet for the girls." Thomas also knew that with the girls quiet and focused on their father, the kitten was likely to come out faster.

"_Kitten_ music?" House sighed. "There's _Kitten on the Keys_, but that's not really a soothing summons."

"Aristocats," Rachel requested.

House started into a medley of songs from the movie, trying to keep it flowing and not too frisky at the moment. Both girls settled down with their mother on the couch, watching their father. From there, he moved over into Memory from _Cats_, letting the music beckon softly.

Jet had been fascinated by the music on House's visit at lunch Thursday. The kitten had been hiding at first then, too, though he had emerged much sooner than this. He had actually seemed to like House, had sniffed him over thoroughly, cane included, as the two men ate and talked and had only tensed up but hadn't run when House bent over slowly to pick him up after a few minutes, carefully letting Jet see his intentions and not startling him.

But after a physical exam, when House was ready to leave and decided to play something first to test the piano out now that it had been tuned after its trip, Jet had been intrigued. He had sat still in the middle of the floor, staring, and had purred throatily throughout three or four selections. A most appreciative audience. Belle liked music, too, House had often noted. He wondered if it was a universal feline trait. No, there was Mozart, who seemed oblivious to the true purpose of anything going on, reading the whole world of human activity as an attempt to play with the kitten.

House saw Jet now from the corner of his eye before the girls noticed him. The playing never faltered, and they didn't realize he was out yet, still focused on their father. Jet crept out of his cave in almost comical slow motion, trying to sneak and unable to. He looked from Thomas to the other man at the tall music box to Cuddy and the girls. It was the largest group of guests he'd met yet, and he clearly wasn't sure about all this. But there was Thomas, there was the music, and his own curiosity was in a tug-of-war with his fears.

Thomas dropped his hand over the side of the recliner and wiggled his fingers. Jet crept across to him, and Thomas scratched his ears for a minute, then gently picked the kitten up. He wanted to have a good hold on him once . . .

"Jet!" Rachel came bubbling off the couch. The kitten froze and gave one half scramble, and Thomas held him firmly against flight, petting him the whole while.

"Easy!" he reminded Rachel.

She slowed down, walking over flat footed, but her hands were eager. Abby looked from her father at the piano to her grandfather with the kitten, torn between two magnets. House was amused but took pity on his younger daughter, resolving the chord and ending the current song. Released from the music's spell, she slid off the couch and went over herself.

Jet was pulled back against Thomas now, making himself as small as he could. Rachel reached out to him. "Hi, Jet," she said softly.

"Scratch his ears like you do Belle's. He likes that," Thomas told her.

She scratched his ears, and the kitten started to purr softly after a hesitation. Rachel smiled. "He likes me!"

Abby was alongside her sister now, reaching out not for the black ears but for the white splint. "Abby, be careful," Thomas warned.

"I wanna see it," she insisted.

"Which of course requires your hands instead of your eyes." Her father pried himself off the nonpadded piano bench and came up behind her. "Don't pull." He captured her fingers, guiding them gently over the splint. "You don't want to hurt him." Abby felt all around the splint, and only after a few minutes of that did she start simply petting the kitten.

Jet's tentative purr stopped, and he looked back at Thomas. Being trapped in the middle of a huddle of four people, two of whom were small and a bit unguarded in their movements, was getting to him.

Thomas scratched his ears, then took pity on him. "Well, you've met Jet. Now, why don't we let him think about things in here while we go out and start lunch? He needs to get used to the idea of all of us being here. Give him time, and he'll be more relaxed later. Okay?"

"Can he walk?" Abby asked. She had been told he could walk, but she wanted to see it for herself.

"Stand back, everybody, and I'll show you. A little farther back." Thomas waited until they had retreated enough that he didn't think the kitten would bolt, and then he set him down on the floor, holding on for another several strokes and a final ear scratch. Once released, Jet took another uneasily curious visual inventory of the crowd, then limped back across the floor into his cave.

Abby watched his trek intently. Rachel was smiling ear to ear. "Bye, Jet."

(H/C)

Nearly an hour later, House came back in from the back yard for a pit stop. With nobody else inside to see, he let himself smile openly as he crossed the kitchen. The grill had been stubborn about lighting; and he was secretly delighted to discover something that his father didn't do well. After a battle, it was finally resigned, and the burgers had just gone on. The girls, meanwhile, had explored the yard thoroughly, including the slide and swing, which were nicely sized for smaller kids. Rachel had run herself silly, burning off a morning's worth of hard self restraint. Originally, she had wanted to ride Grandpa Thomas like a horse again, but Cuddy had vetoed that, saying he needed more time to heal from his "accident." Always distractible, Rachel had accepted the yard instead. Abby seemed much more relaxed today, enough so that House realized anew how tense she had been while the Cuddys had been in Princeton. He had to remember how observant she was, even at her age.

As he exited the bathroom, Thomas was standing at the end of the hall, purpose in every line of his posture. House warily came to a stop in front of him. "What?"

Thomas looked uneasy, oddly for such a talented actor, but he pushed on without delay. "I wanted to ask you two questions, Greg."

"Which I'm not going to like." House shifted around him to gain the larger living room. Not that Thomas had actually been physically blocking him, just waiting there, but House felt better for some room to maneuver. He limped clear across the room to the far end and stopped in front of the mountain painting. "So, did Wilson get the full story behind this?"

Thomas heard the unspoken followup. _While I still haven't?_ His son had grilled him a few times making sure that he hadn't been the main topic of discussion at Wednesday's lunch. No doubt Wilson himself had come in for some questioning, too. Thomas answered, even though he knew this was just a delaying tactic. "No, he didn't, Greg. He didn't even realize there was any special significance to it. It was just a nice piece of decor to him. About that question . . ."

"Two, you said," House interrupted. "Ask me the one you weren't going to put first."

"There's a tentative date set on the closing on my St. Louis house. It's in three weeks, on a Thursday. I can make it a tight one-day trip, early flight, closing, and then home. But I wondered if you would come over in the middle of that day and eat lunch here and spend a little time with Jet just so he doesn't feel abandoned."

House blinked. "You want me to _kitten sit_? That's all?"

"That's the question I was going to ask second. He likes you, Greg." Jet at that moment emerged from his cave, checked to make sure the coast was clear, and then limped across to the two men. He reared up and pawed Thomas' jeans leg, and Thomas smiled and bent to pick him up. "Eventually, it won't matter as much to leave him alone all day, but he still needs reassurance at this point. You're the best choice next to me."

House reached out to scratch Jet's ears. "Anybody's a step up from the one who tossed him."

"Cats also are excellent judges of character. He does like you, Greg."

"You'll be getting me into more trouble with Belle, you know." Belle was thoroughly disgruntled at having smelled Jet long distance for several evenings now. She was starting to realize that the kitten wasn't going to live there, but she still flattened her ears and sniffed disparagingly at first and only became sociable after an eloquent pause.

"Belle will get used to the idea. She's already starting to."

House shrugged. "Okay, I'll kitten sit. But you leave the money to order lunch." Thomas grinned and nodded. "What's the other question?"

Thomas tensed up again, and House realized to his surprise that the old man originally had been approaching whatever the harder request was first instead of putting it off as long as possible. _This_ was the source of his uneasiness. "Greg, are you all right?" Thomas asked.

House's hand stilled on the kitten. "Fine," he snapped. He started to turn away.

"Greg." Thomas' voice was a low plea. "Something is different the last few days. I thought you were just tired Wednesday night, but it was still there Thursday at lunch. It's still there this morning. You've been healing up slowly since the explosion, but your leg and your side are bothering you more since Wednesday. I'm not asking all the details of what's going on, Greg, just for reassurance that you know what it is and that you're treating it."

House jerked away from this conversation, limping off a few feet. "You think two months ago wasn't bad enough to still be healing?"

Thomas didn't follow him. "I know it is. I'm not quite 100% myself yet. But there is something new going on this week."

"Ask Lisa," House snarled. "Which you probably already have, so drop the charade."

"No, I haven't. I asked you first."

House looked back in challenge. "_First?_"

"If you won't give me an answer, I probably _will_ ask Lisa."

"And throw her into the middle of us. Nice going, old man."

"I'm _not_ asking for details. Not you or her. Keep whatever private that you want to. I just want to know, yes or no, if you're okay."

House glared at him, searching for any insincerity. Abruptly, he remembered John the night of that painful dinner in the cafeteria, belittling his handicap, telling him he didn't know how lucky he was. He didn't actually hear John's voice now, but the memory of the words alone was enough to make his jaw clench. He looked away from the old man to the mountain painting. Something hidden there, too. Thomas had no right to protest secrecy. "Tell me what that painting means," he demanded. "_All_ of it."

Thomas turned to face it himself, and his eyes went distant. After a moment, he spoke softly. "That's where I asked Emily to marry me. Perfect day, just like that, even down to the hawk circling. I painted that as a gift to her for our 25th wedding anniversary. Worked on it as a surprise in a friend's house. She absolutely loved it. And . . ." He paused, and House didn't push. "I promised her another one for our 50th. I was going to paint from our honeymoon. We didn't make it to 50."

He stopped again briefly. "We did go back to visit that site a few times over the years. The last time was one of the best driving vacations we'd ever had. Camped out there again, even at our age, and we talked about how wonderful everything had been. It was one week after we got back that she first went to the doctor for what she thought were some minor symptoms, and he ordered more tests." Thomas shook his head. "She wasn't putting things off and ignoring warning signs. Not like Blythe. And we tried _everything_. It still didn't help. That painting always hung in our bedroom, and during her last few months, we'd use it for pain relief. Distraction. Going back there again."

He came to the end, and House saw the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes. Jet, still in Thomas' arms, arched back, rubbing his head along the old man's chest, and purred. Thomas stroked him as the silence lengthened for a minute. "I did _not_ tell Wilson that," Thomas repeated. "I wouldn't have even if he asked. Haven't told Lisa yet, either. I'll probably tell her someday, but I can't imagine telling all of it to anybody who wasn't a close family member. Right now, you're the only other one who knows how we used it at the end."

House spoke up after a moment. "I'm okay," he said. He left it there almost as a challenge, but it was clearly an answer, not an evasion.

To his surprise, Thomas accepted it without further details. "Thank you, Greg. That takes a weight off my mind." He looked back at the painting, and House remembered again that the old man had lost everybody in his former family. All but Emily had been sudden blows, too. No wonder he'd fought so obsessively for a cure for her; it was the first time he'd been presented with a battle, with some chance, not just a phone call and a funeral. Even then, he had lost.

House was surprised to hear his voice speaking again. "I started a course of PT on Wednesday morning. Just to finish getting back to before the explosion. Three sessions so far."

Thomas relaxed even more. "I well remember PT with my shoulder after I got hurt in the Marines," he commiserated. "Gave me sympathy for people in medieval torture chambers."

There was no more pushing on details on the leg. House watched him petting the kitten. "Had any more parking lot encounters with Patterson?" he asked.

"Not from a parking lot, but I've called her twice this week to update her on Jet. We talked for a while."

At that moment, the back door opened, and Cuddy's voice was heard, as well as the more-distant laughter of the girls. "Boys? It's ready."

"Be right there," Thomas called back. He set Jet back down on the floor. "Thank you, Greg," he said again, then turned and left.

House and Jet looked at each other. "Do I look like a kitten sitter to you?" he demanded.

Jet limped over and sniffed at the cane, and House bent to scratch his ears. "Scram, tripod. I need to leave." He moved off gently, careful not to shake the kitten's balance as he pulled his foot away. He took time for another quick inspection of the mountain painting close up, then headed for the back door to rejoin his family.

(H/C)

After lunch, they wound up back in the living room, House and Cuddy with Abby on the couch, Thomas and Rachel in the recliner, Jet in his cave. Thomas hit the remote and started the DVD.

House quickly realized why the old man had promised that _The Man from Snowy River_ would have something to appeal to all of them. There were plenty of horses for Rachel (and Thomas), a sappy love story for Cuddy, and surprisingly good music for House and Abby. The scenery was stunning. Rachel, tired out enough now to sit still, was delighted when Jet emerged to join the party. He waited warily for a few minutes, watching her, then reared up, and Thomas lifted him into the recliner, raising its occupancy to three.

Abby, settled contentedly in her father's arms, looked back at him as the montage of pure piano music, no dialogue, during the breaking in of the colt ended. "Can you play, Daddy?" she asked.

House had been soaking up the notes like a sponge. Not that difficult but certainly expressive. "I'll play it for you sometime, Abby," he promised.

She nodded, satisfied. "Me, too," she promised.

"Someday, yes. You need bigger hands first." Abby looked at her hands and stretched them out to their fullest extent, and House caught Thomas watching them instead of the screen.

The movie wound on. Cuddy put her arm around House's shoulders and pulled him over more tightly against her when Jim Craig said to Jessica Harrison, "If it was easy to get to know it, it wouldn't be challenging. You've got to treat the mountains like a high-spirited horse. Never take them for granted," and Jessica replied, "It's the same with people, too."

House kept watching the movie, but his thoughts drifted away on a second track. He was sitting here surrounded by his family, enjoying a simple Saturday together. Five years ago, he could never have imagined this.

"Watch this," Thomas said.

Abby was drifting off in House's arms, but she perked up and paid attention again. Rachel, stubbornly fighting tiredness, was riveted as the final scene started. The herd of wild horses, the pounding music and scenery of the chase, the climax when Jim jumped his horse over the edge of the cliff after the mob while all the other riders pulled up. "Wow," Rachel said as the horses arrived on level ground again. "Can Ember do that, Grandpa Thomas?"

"No." House grinned at Cuddy's firm veto joining Thomas' simple answer. The old man looked over at her and smiled. "Lisa, I absolutely promise you that I'll never jump Ember off a cliff. Okay?"

"I _know_ it's silly, but . . ."

Thomas shook his head. "It's not silly. Lots of people are afraid of horses. And I still promise, we aren't ever going to do that."

Cuddy relaxed. House studied the cracking stock whip as Jim delivered the wild herd to Harrison's homestead, and a thought occurred to him for the first time. This whip was nothing like the ones John had used (though he was glad John hadn't been able to find one this size). Furthermore, Jim clearly never touched the horses with it, using it for sound guidance only. House had been relieved to discover that the riding crops out at the stable didn't bother him at all, though he hadn't seen anybody there beating a horse with theirs, either. But he wondered suddenly if John had known that Thomas liked horses even during the old man's horseless military days. Was the use of a riding whip against young Greg another subtle strike at his true father?

Someday, maybe, he would ask. Just now, it was enough that the whips did not bother him. The past was past. Today belonged firmly to the present.

Cuddy gave a happy sigh as Jessica left her father and walked out to Jim, and he tipped his hat to her. "That is a neat movie, Thomas. Thanks for suggesting it."

Rachel, meanwhile, was petting Jet. "He likes me," she repeated as the credits rolled.

Abby turned to her father. "Play like that, Daddy."

House moved her over and stood up. Settling in at the piano, he replayed the memory from the movie, then launched into Jessica's theme. His first piano, he recalled, stroking the keys fondly. He was glad that it was here with his family on this day together. He looked over at them again, his hands unfailing on the keys even as his head turned.

_Never take them for granted._

John was wrong, as he had been on many things.

Deep down, House knew exactly how lucky he was.


End file.
